


The Old Lung Forest

by The_narwhals_awaken



Series: The Cryptid Files [2]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: BAD WOLF mentions, Psychological Horror, haunted forest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:54:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26916943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_narwhals_awaken/pseuds/The_narwhals_awaken
Summary: Rassilon needed answers, and everyone he'd asked- the records, the Visionary, even the grumpy Doctor- agreed: the forest on Mount Lung would reveal the answers he'd need, if he was willing to make the journey through.
Series: The Cryptid Files [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1981387
Comments: 9
Kudos: 4





	1. Entering the Forest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GroovyKat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GroovyKat/gifts).



He set down the book. All the sources- the legends he’d heard, the words of the Visionary, even the advice given by an irritated Doctor- agreed. The forests on Mount Lung would reveal to you what you needed to know, provided you went properly prepared. And he needed to know how to win this war. This was much worse than the last war he’d been in- at least then, he’d had his friends, Omega to make new tools and weapons, and the Other to direct him and his battalion to where they needed to go next and provide the information so he could secure another victory. These foes, too, were slightly easier to kill than an Ysgarroth- but they more than made up for that with numbers. 

Rassilon stood, gathering the supplies, and remembering the Doctor’s warnings. Oh, he didn’t want to be called that, but without providing another name, that would be what he was known as. But he’d glared significantly, finally telling him once he’d been certain that he was going, to keep him alive. “You can’t bring anyone else if you’re going to find something. If you do, you will either not find anything or be separated- and if you are, odds are high that neither will make it out. Bring two days’ worth of food and water, but no more. That’ll serve you on the way in and out- once you’re inside, the forest will feed you as it sees fit. Bring no weapons more advanced than a knife, as the forest will take them.” He’d paused, seeming to relent somewhat. “If you need supplies for the trip there and back, then leave them in the hollow of two roots. You’ll find them when you return- if you do. And be certain you know what you want- most who fell fell because they found what they were truly looking for, not what they went in to seek.” He’d turned away after that, leaving for who knows where. Rassilon would have been more curious, but the basic information he’d gathered showed that he had been Lungbarrow, and would have had those stories told to him. Long before his time, that House had kept the Forest. 

The journey seemed to pass in hours and at the same time in seconds. He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of a lot of things these days- nobody had bothered to update him on a lot of things other than the current situation. Part of it was his reputation- nobody saw the need to. Part of it was just he loathed asking for help- it would make him seem weak if it ever got out, and he didn’t really trust anyone. Not Braxiatel, nobody trusted him. Not the former President or her odd bodyguard, that would be foolish- and the bodyguard seemed quite peculiar, but he’d figure that out later. Not even Coordinator Narvinectralonum of the CIA- one who held a position he’d used to trust. Most certainly not that Doctor, he who was so odd, making friends with lower species and preferring their company, hitting all those old reminders of old friends in ways he refused to recognize, because that would mean his old mistakes were real, that he’d have to face one of his old friends hating him. 

Eventually, the craft lowered itself. It was five minute’s walk from the edge of the Forest, and he needed the walk to center himself on his goals. Stepping out, he followed the path. Stopping at the edge of the forest, he left the excess food, his staser, and the formal robes that were nearly all he wore nowadays. It was somehow freeing to be back in the simple clothes he’d worn back when he was able to tinker, make things, build new structures. It felt right, that he’d be making something new this time, too.  _ Or will you just be put back under, when they’re done with you? Too invaluable to rest, to join your friends, too uncontrollable and immoral to let retire. An eternity of your own designing, an immortality of entrapment! _ He pushed those thoughts aside and stepped into the forest. 

He walked forwards, for minutes or hours, he didn’t know. The forest seemed to close in around him. After he reached a clearing, he ate a few protein bars and drank supplement powder. One of the things he missed the most about his old time was the good food there. He’d noticed that a few people around the Citadel smelled of burnt sugar and flour occasionally, but he didn’t pry- it wasn’t his place, and he didn’t have a good reason beyond missing the taste and texture of real food. After finishing the disgusting fake-ulanda flavored juice, he stood again, pocketing the wrappers. The path cleared suddenly, and, lacking in any other direction, he followed. 

Rassilon continued walking for what was closer to hours than minutes, but he couldn’t tell. The silver leaves above him were woven together tightly enough that he couldn’t tell the time, and he’d left his chrono outside. It was probably darker, although whether that was due to a tighter weave in the branches or the suns setting, he didn’t know. There was fog sneaking in around him, and it registered that he hadn’t heard the cobblemice squeaking or the Plutarch owls hooting for a while. The path under his feet had shifted from bare dirt to cobbles sometime, and there were the sounds of a stream. A fork in the path came up. Both sides glinted with metal, but one was silvery with coppery-red stains, while the other was black with an odd shimmer below it. A figure was standing in front of one of the older, larger trees right in front of the fork. 

He smiled. It wasn’t a mean smile, but something about his face just screamed that you’d either run along him or get left behind. His vibrant red hair and bright gold eyes spoke of his power, a Hero the like hadn’t ever been seen before or since. Hero not just in his kind nature, but in that he could see time far clearer and truer than most. The current Visionary was a Hero as well, but her fading rust wasn’t nearly as vibrant, and her sight was not as directed. The freckles were familiar, more vibrant since he was far paler than he’d ever been. 

“Remember me?”

“How could I forget? You were my friend, and then one of my biggest regrets?”

The Other laughed. “Well, that’s one thing taken care of. You won’t have to face that, then.”

“What? I came here to figure out how we could win this war, so I could rest properly. Why are you talking of facing things like I would have had to face your-” He cut himself off abruptly. 

“Rassi, Rassi, Rassi. Didn’t you hear m-their warnings?” Hastily he interrupted himself, trying not to confirm his worries. “Your greatest need was peace, peace and understanding. So you’ll be seeing one of two options to give you that. Option one,” he gestured to the silvery path with the visible bloodstains, “will give you the military knowledge you seek, along with what set this path in motion. It’ll even tell you how to keep what comes afterwards spinning along till you leave! Option two,” he gestured the other way, to his right, at the dark path with the worrying glint, “will answer the questions you’ve been asking. Don’t worry, either way you’ll get information to end the War you’re stuck in, it’s just that they’re the two biggest paths- and this is the divergence point. I can’t push you towards one or the other,” softly snickering for a second, “but I can state that only one will see you sleeping well at night.” The Other stepped back, eyes glinting as much as his teeth. It had been so long without seeing that odd, unsettling gleam-  _ liar, _ his mind whispered,  _ you saw it in the last Council meeting and when you asked for advice. You’re just a coward _ \- that it took him aback, especially as gloom fell. But he was somewhat used to dealing with his old friend, especially in cases like this. 

“What are the paths called? And do you have any warnings?” Rassilon asked, ignoring the whisper down his spine that screamed to turn and run, get out and go back to the cold, lonely Citadel in a cold, lonely group of people, to lose himself in the War. He pushed that back. Too much longer and he’d slip again. Start sacrificing more than ~~he~~ ~~they~~ the people could lose. Make choices that would terrify himself. Cross his few remaining lines. 

The Other beamed. “I knew you were a smart cookie! This one, the shiny one, is called the Path of Ultimacy, and the dark one is called the Path of Finality. Most of the warnings depend on the path, but on either side,” here he lost all semblance of merriment, “you must not step off the path. If you do, you won’t come back, or if you manage it- and you might, you were always stubborn- you won’t be the same”. 

Rassilon surprised himself by laughing. It was a tired laugh, worn thin by his life. “I won’t be the same if I stay on the path! But thank you for your advice, all the same.” 

He needed to choose. Once, overhead, an owl hooted. That hoot reminded him of the uncanny silence otherwise surrounding him. Even the creek had stopped burbling. The War or answers? Rest or none? He thought for a while, then decided. 

"I choose-"


	2. The Path of Finality

“I choose the Path of Finality”. As soon as the words left his mouth, a cold wind blew around them, wrapping higher and higher until all he could see was his friend, the tree, and two steps onto the path he’d chosen. 

The Other started cackling. “Good for you! Now, a few more warnings before you step out: You will be facing what you’ve pushed away. You will be seeing the effects of your mistakes. You will also meet three guides, who will answer questions that they reasonably can answer. Each will also ask a question. If all three let you pass, then you will be returned here, and I will answer three questions for you. If you do not, then the Forest will take you. Understood?”

Rassilon nodded, unable to speak. Even having taken all the precautions, even facing his friend, it hadn’t quite felt real. Now it was abruptly so, and he found his throat closing up. 

“Good. One more thing- you’ve picked the path I’d prefer, but your actions remain your own. If you can’t face that, you will fail.” With that ominous parting remark, the Other faded away, along with the tree, and Rassilon was faced with the path. Taking a deep breath, he stepped onto it. 

  
  


Instantly, the path spun and whirled around him. He staggered, falling to hands and knees, only to cry out when the path cut into them. The world kept on spinning, until it finally spat him out. The ground was smooth cobbles, still black, and as the blood dripped from his torn-up palms and knees, it joined the strange sheen. Eventually he rose into a crouch, cleaning and bandaging his knees before fully standing and doing the same to his hands. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a dermal regenerator with him, so he’d just have to make do with bandages. 

Once the bandages were secure and he’d tucked the remaining ones back into his bag, Rassilon set off down the path. The light was oddly diffuse, in a way it hadn’t been since he’d been resurrected. Glancing up, he saw the clear sky through a gap in the branches. This was before the War, then, since there had been much more active shields ever since hostilities began. The Gallifreyans and Shobogans had been rightfully upset, since farming was difficult enough already, but soil supplements and careful tuning of the shields had taken care of most of their complaints. 

A stream burbled nearby, the air filled with the sound of a healthy forest- mostly. Some noises were missing- creaking wood, the sound of sliverants scurrying, chucklebugs creeping, or kaltydindles screaming. It was like the harmful pests had been eradicated, and now the Forest was going to fall apart. He kept walking, quietly enjoying the fresh air. The wind was blowing, the stream was burbling, someone was crying, birds were chirping, the leaves were rustling- wait. Someone was crying. The path curved, getting closer and closer to the sound, yet never quite reaching it. For a second, Rassilon was tempted to step off. But he remembered the warning he was given, and stayed on the path, pushing his pace forwards to get to whoever was crying. It wasn’t a baby’s cry, he knew that much, and didn’t seem quite like a toddler’s either. It was far too high to be an adult’s, so that meant that somebody had left a child in the Forest! Whoever did that, he’d be having words with- children were precious even before the Curse, and after, even rarer! Nobody would hurt one, although some of the stories he’d heard were getting worryingly close to it, but that was still one of the worst crimes!

Finally, he rounded one last bend and came to a halt. The path came to an end in the edges of a clearing. There was no other way in or out of the clearing. That wasn’t what stopped him, however. What stopped him was the fact that there was a child sitting in the middle of the clearing. Dressed in worn Pyrdonian reds, they were crying softly, curled up in a ball. Rassilon froze. He took half a step forwards, stepping into the clearing proper, and a branch broke under his foot. The child looked up. Their eyes were muddy blue-brown, their hair was dark- with mud, water, or naturally, he didn’t know- and their skin, while pale like most Loomlings in this area were, was both sun-darkened, muddy, and blood-streaked from the scratches across their face. 

“Why are you here? Have you come to tell me I can’t come back?” they asked, tremulously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So another chapter's up! I don't know when I'll keep posting, as the muse for this is somewhat flickery, but I still have a full weekend to get some work done! 
> 
> Leave a comment and tell me what you think!


	3. The First Test

Rassilon startled, taken aback by not only the words which the child spoke, but by their plain, unexpectant tone. It was clear that this was a common threat, and one with enough backing that the child believed that it would be kept. 

“No! First-” he paused, taking a deep breath and letting it out again, before continuing. “First, can you tell me what I can call you? I can’t just keep thinking of you as ‘the child’.” 

They smiled. “Well, my Lord, you can call me your first tester. Or if it’s a name you want, you can call me Theta. It’s common enough with the other children- even though it’s not my proper name, it’s enough for most. What questions do you have for me?”

Rassilon was taken aback. He hadn’t expected the tests to be delivered like this, but the Forest worked in mysterious ways. Regardless of his hangups, he needed to get his answers, but the part of him that long, long ago was uncle to his friends’ children demanded that he make sure the child was in a state to answer questions first. “When was the last time you ate?”

Theta threw their head back, laughing. “So kind! Where was this kindness when you pushed one of your friends into a black hole and held the other at spearpoint, so their choice was death by you or death by the Looms? But regardless, I have eaten regularly while in the Forest- they take care of their own.” The  _ unlike you _ remained unspoken, and Rassilon privately thought the red-and-orange Pyrdonian robes were well-suited for the child. 

He nodded. That seemed right. “Why would they have left you in here?” Even in the worst times, nobody left a child behind, and certainly not anywhere like the Forest. 

They laughed. “Probably because of  _ this _ ” Before Rassilon could say anything, they stood up, uncurling fully, several inches taller than they should have been. Impossibly lean limbs seemed to blur in and out of existence, while three-inch gleaming fangs extended below golden, slit-pupiled eyes. “They called me demon, abomination,  _ thing _ , and denied my right to exist. But murder is illegal, and if they got rid of a child, they’d have issues- especially with status. By kicking me out here, they can claim I ran and they won’t be at fault.” Theta froze for a second, seemingly collapsing in on themself. When they were done, a seemingly normal child looked up, but Rassilon’s eyes couldn’t quite focus on a few things. What exactly their hands were doing, exactly how tall they were, but mostly the hair. Was it dark brown, a softer nut brown, or like his brain told him it should be, flaming red? Shaking his head, he tuned back in to Theta’s commentary. He noticed that, despite all other things returning to normal, their eyes still gleamed gold. “I’m going to run properly one day, and they won’t be able to stop me. I’m going to run on my own terms, live my life as I will, and nobody’s going to stop me forever. Besides,” and here their face twisted into a wry grin. “I’m supposed to die elsewhere. How can I unless I leave planet?” 

“How indeed” mused Rassilon, somewhat shaken, although he refused to admit it. “Alright, so we’ve established why you’re here, as well as exposing some interesting prejudices in society that have developed over the centuries I’ve been locked up. What question are you asking me? I’m assuming it’s a big one, since that’s what they implied.”

Theta sat back down, sprawling comfortably, and patted the grass beside him. Hesitantly, Rassilon settled down on the red carpet. “The first thing is asking if you have any other questions.”

Rassilon shook his head, then paused. “Just one, actually. Why you?” 

Theta seemed amused by that- actually, he’d seemed amused by a lot, especially for a kid kicked out by their House to, presumably, die in a haunted Forest. “Ah, one of the few I can’t fully answer. The part I can, is that it’s variations on a theme of your lies to yourself. The others will give you more information. Good luck with that!” 

Rassilon leaned over, looking Theta as close in the eyes as he reasonably could, the part of his brain that thrived on close-quarters combat absently noting Theta’s readiness to jump up and either run or swing, as well as the fact that their eyes were back to that odd blue-brown hazel. “So what’s the question you’re going to ask?” 

“Why don’t you feel comfortable around even the inner core of your own government, the people who should be your allies?” 

Rassilon started to answer, then paused. 

“This isn’t one of the ones you need to think about much, it’s more about letting you admit it to yourself.” Theta chimed in. 

“Well,” and paused. Did he want to say it? Saying it would almost feel like an admission of guilt, but at the same time the words welled up in his throat, ready to burst out. He laid back on the red grass, soft as he remembered and how it so rarely was anymore, and at the quiet inquiring note from Theta, it all spilled out. 

How he felt out of place, out of time. How everyone else expected him to be perfect, all-knowing and all-powerful, yet jumped down his throat as soon as he’d make a mistake. How he felt like Romanadvoratrelundar and her group had been better-suited, and how he’d much rather have preferred joining their group, or even keeping them on for advice, but he didn’t know them or how to ask without seeming weak, and he was shoved into a position he’d wanted long ago but no longer truly did, not after one day realizing that he’d either be here till he died or became useless, pulled out for a disaster, then tucked away before he could reap the benefits of his hard work like a broken toy, and he was spiralling and didn’t know how to stop the actions he took, that the masks he wore were seeping further and further down into him until he started to worry being unable to take them off, how he regretted some of his actions but not all- the Pythian rule was not sustainable for the long-term progress of interstellar diplomacy, but he may have gone too far, that he regretted pushing Omega over and feared what his friend had become, that he regretted falling so far that when his last friend stood against him, he tried to kill him- that he didn’t regret winning the War but he did regret that it started. How it hurt, to see the eyes of his old friend in a brand new face, one who had been seen before, still so light and joyful despite everything, now hardened by the horrors of another war that seemed messy despite its inevitability, and so distrustful of him. He talked on and on until he was all talked out, then slumped back into the grass and shut his eyes. 

Minutes or seconds, but no more than an hour later, he opened his eyes to Theta looking at him. “Well, that was a lot, but don’t you feel better for saying it?” He took mental stock and felt that somehow, he did. “So you’ve gotten all you can from me, and now it’s time for you to go onto the next tester. A word of advice- I let you rant, but they’ll make you think. They may even bring a friend, but you’ll know which is the real tester. You only have to answer their questions. Good luck!” They faded away, and the clearing spun until somehow, he was on his feet, and on the sharp, black path again. He managed to avoid falling this time, and took his first few steps down the path. It had barely been twenty footfalls, barely enough time to regain his balance and mental equilibrium, however, before he stumbled into the next clearing. Running through the middle of it was a stream. There were three boys there- the tallest had the middlest one, and was shoving him down and holding him under the quickly-moving water. The third was scrabbling about on the banks for something, finally finding it. It was a large, heavy rock, only holdable in two hands for anyone their size. They hefted it singlehandedly, then caught sight of Rassilon. 

“Don’t worry, won’t be a minute. Just have to take care of” he grunted, shifting his grip on the stone, “a little problem, and then we can talk”. They raised the stone. 


	4. The Second Test

The seemingly shortest of the three, who seemed similar to Theta from the first clearing, but had gained a streak of pure white amidst their dark hair, raised the stone they’d picked up, carrying in both hands while waving cheerily at Rassilon, and brought it down on the head of the tallest, who hadn’t looked up at his assailant. He slumped over into the stream, while Theta hauled the third out of the cold water. His dark blond hair was plastered to his skull, his Academy robes had mud rubbed into them, and he was shivering, but he still managed to seem like he was looking down on both his assailant, Theta, and Rassilon, who was watching the whole scene with an air of exasperated bemusement. Said bemusement was only exacerbated by Theta also dragging the assailant, seemingly several years older, out of the stream as well, and dumping him on the other side of the clearing. When they came back, they wiped their brow with one hand, waved to Rassilon, and poked their friend in the ribs at the same time. 

“So you’ve made it past the first round, then” they said, not as warmly as the first Theta, but not coldly either. 

The blond friend poked them back and hissed, “Thete, come on, make some introductions properly! You’re an embarrassment, I swear!”, then turned towards Rassilon and stated neatly, “I am Koschei of House Oakdown, and my barbarian friend here is Theta Sigma of House Lungbarrow. Who are you and why might you be here?” His last sentence seemed awfully pretentious, but Rassilon was willing to push it aside as a young Newblood wanting to stand up for himself and push his status, while Thete- a good way to distinguish them, even if their scrunched-up face indicated dislike for the nickname- knew his status, and more importantly, who he was already. But Rassilon saw no harm in poking fun at this Koschei- a familiar name, but one he couldn’t attach to a face just yet- while keeping his own name secret. Even he knew not to give names to random strangers who walk out of the forest, and he hadn’t been a child in millenia! 

“I’m nobody of importance, just a traveler. And what, Koschei of House Oakdown, are you doing here?” There, allowing a name to be given while reminding him that status was immaterial when they all three were in the Forest. 

Thete chimed in. “Well, since you haven’t given us a name, would it be acceptable if we gave you one to call you by?” At his nod, they tipped their head, familiar smirk singing of mischief. “You’ll be Ross, then.” Rassilon tipped his head slightly, as if thinking, then nodded again, accepting the choice, and poking at the joke. 

Koschei looked confused. “Why not just use your real name? If it’s a hassle, then you can just give a few syllables. I myself was blessed with a name short enough that all of it will suffice in an introduction, but others have been given much more of a hassle. Why, there’s N-” 

He was cut off by Thete whacking him, first in the ribs to cut off his speech, then upside the head, as he was an idiot- and he was. Revealing to a total stranger that not only had he lost the traditions that kept his foreparents safe, but he was stuck-up enough to confirm that it was his whole name that he gave. He glared at them, but at the steel in those hazel eyes, sighed, threw up his hands, and stormed off to someplace. Thete rolled their eyes and sat down on an exposed root, dusting off their robes. 

“So, doubt you’re here for more questions. Ready for mine?” they asked. 

Rassilon tipped his head, thinking for a second, then straightened and sat next to them. “I am not here for my questions as yet, although some have indeed been answered. I doubt that anyone is truly ready for your questions as in this context, and I would express gratitude for your interference, as well as sympathy for your idiot friend.”

Equally as formal, prompted by the setting, Thete replied. “I accept your gratitude and sympathy, and respond with my own gratitude that you are both willing to learn and patient enough not to do my friend harm. My question will be soon, but you have something more to say.”

Stifling a laugh at the formalities, Rassilon finished the exchange. “I accept your gratitude, and await your question.” 

Thete did not relax from their position like Theta had, the white streak in their hair gleaming vividly against the brown-black-red effect, and glistening as brightly as the gold that bled past the hazel in their eyes. “Why do you use so much force and intimidation in your attacks in this latest War?”

Rassilon paused. Based on Theta’s warning and Thete’s gleaming eyes and hair, this was a question with a right answer. He continued thinking for a few seconds, parsing the concepts, before speaking. 

“I was not like this in the War in Heaven, or even in my campaign against the Pythia. There are many facets to the forcefulness of the attacks. The first, of course, is overcompensation for the fact that I’d rather not be here, and although I can’t sabotage the effort without being branded a traitor- I’m a bit too selfish to let that happen, unfortunately- I swung the other way. Part of it is that much of the Council have never seen war, and they kicked out, ignore, or belittle those with actual combat experience- I speak, of course, of Former President Romanadvoratrelundar, Cardinal Braxiatel, and of course the Doctor. Part of it is the general attitude that lives are cheap, and especially lives of non-Time Lords are a dime a dozen. And part of it is trying to ensure my image is untouchable by those who would attack me. But it isn’t sustainable, and I think that we’re going to need a major strategy change if we’re making it out of this war alive, but at this stage I worry that it’s not going to work.”

Thete looked at him, seemingly staring through him in such a way that it was only his familiarity with the stare that kept him from shifting. Minutes ticked by in the silence, and out of the corner of his eye, Rassilon noticed that the stream had frozen, mid-burble. Finally, they let him up. 

“Very good job, both in identifying all parts of the problem you knew about, and in pointing out how it’s unlikely to be solved- First was to let you admit your worries, I’m here to let you figure out your position, and now Third is going to help you plan your strategy. Two pieces of advice- what you didn’t know is that many in the High Council are applying subtle telepathic pressure to push you over the edge and stifle detractors.”

Rassilon froze. “And the second?” He’d deal with the outrage later, possibly in a vicious spar or passive-agressive legislation. Telepathic pressure, especially without consent and in legislative situations, was violently illegal. But the fact that that was the first thing Thete had pointed out didn’t spell good things. 

“The second is that you will have to admit to the thing you refuse to in order to pass Third” Thete said, staring dead at him. 

Rassilon rose and gave a half bow. “Thank you for your time and advice. As elucidating as it was, I would rather not meet.” This statement made Thete smirk, bringing back the glimpse of Theta. They waved once more, then winked.

The clearing spun around him, dumping him on the path once more, and off he walked again, shivering like someone had stepped on his grave.


	5. The Third Test

It was closer to hours, if not a full day later, that Rassilon stepped off the path, once more cobblestones, into the third clearing. This clearing was the smallest, with roots bent out of the ground into two stools. Sitting on one was the Doctor, except he was different. Clad in the armor he remembered his friend in, with the hilt of his sword gleaming, and the helmet resting neatly beside him, he seemed like the old warrior he’d had to become- or re-become, he supposed. Carefully, he sat down, and the two waited in silence, enjoying the quiet sounds of the world around them. 

Eventually, Rassilon turned. “Other” he calmly greeted. 

The Doctor cracked an eyelid open. He’d been dozing, much like he’d seen during several boring Council meetings. And no, none of them were one’s he’d been dozing through as well, although he’d have enjoyed the opportunity for a nap, but too many people were watching him. The Doctor could grouch, or sit slightly hunched over, or lean his head back, and nobody would judge him overmuch because that was just how this face was. 

“It’s nice that you’ve finally managed to admit what was in front of your face” was his neutral response. 

“It’s not so much refusing to admit it as not coping with any of the issues behind that. And for what it’s worth, I am sorry for attacking you. That was too far.”

The Doctor sat up slightly. “Yeah, it was. What clued you in? Was it the Zagreus incident? The fact that you ended up in stasis for hundreds of years? Or the cryptic murder forest?” The sarcasm was evident and pointed, and Rassilon winced. 

“Unfortunately for my pride, it was the murder forest. But yes, none of those were my best moments. What’s new with you?” 

The Doctor accepted the blunt conversation change. “Not much, really. Still thankful each day for the Old Girl- I’d be dead without her, mostly out of starvation or exhaustion. You?”

Rassilon leaned back, careful not to overbalance but enjoying casual conversation. “Also not much, I’d like to tinker but haven’t found the time in ages. At this point, I’m more worried about not having the same instincts that I kept up for centuries than not making anything functional.”

Silence fell for another period of time. Both were avid tinkerers, but the War had kept them both from being able to poke around without it needing to be emergency repairs, or rarely, more permanent fixes. 

Finally, the Doctor broke the silence. “You know the deal: one question that you need to answer to my satisfaction before you leave. First let you vent, Second needed a precise response to a few specific targets, and now I’m doing a mix- there’s no right answer, but there’s a right theme. If you haven’t gotten it, then you’re not leaving. Whether the Forest gets you or you figure it out, them’s the rules.”

Rassilon shifted slightly, facing him more fully. “I know the rules, yes. What’s the question?”

The Doctor looked him dead in the eyes, his own brown eyes flashing golden and the white-grey of his hair gaining a hint of rust. “What next? If you leave, what are you planning on doing? In the War, with the Council, what are your plans for the future?”

He tilted his head back. The sky was hidden by the silvery canopy, somehow creating a net dense enough to block all view of the outside while simultaneously letting light through. 

“Well, I’m going to have to do something about the Council. Probably, since others knew about the trip, I can return and seclude myself for a bit to ‘process and plan for the future with the new knowledge gained’, so there’s that. I want to get some sensors up, muted, so I can figure out who’s pushing what, then make blockers for them. I want to shift the course of the War. We still need to be aggressive, I don’t think anything else would be tolerated, but we’ve been on the defensive for the most part. We’ve got to reduce their numbers before they can hit. Suck them into black holes. Poke around at their foundries, and delay production of new shells. Take some shells back and process the weapons and armor, see if there’s any weak points or ways to stop the attack.”

He could see the Doctor nodding along in approval, having taken a tablet out and making notes, but he was just starting on a roll. 

“I want to get in contact with Romana and see what her group can get done- they’re surprisingly effective, if semi-illegal. The CIA are being criminally underutilized, in terms of spying, doing their jobs, and weaponizing paperwork. If I can get a proper meeting with Coordinator Narvin, I think I can take out much of the Council. The best part- they won’t notice. Paperwork always piles up during a war, and I’ve been enough of a stickler about proper procedure except when in emergency, and defined emergency well enough, that nobody will think it odd that I’m insisting. Probably need to get in contact with the Matrix analysts and put them in contact with the Visionary, they’re probably best suited to interpret her words. She still needs to show up to meetings, but the rest of the time, it’s important that her words get saved. Need to make sure internal supply/demand gets settled, can probably push through some helpful rules. Get you doing what you do best- bouncing around, causing chaos, aggravating the Daleks and giving a secondary target.” 

Rassilon paused, reveling in the feeling of being alive that he hadn’t really felt, then turned when he noticed the Doctor shaking in laughter, the well-woven metal plates of his armor clinking as he attempted to hold back guffaws. Realizing that he’d rambled hugely, and the poking at many people, he started snickering himself. 

Exchanging looks, they tried to calm down, but every time they thought they’d be all laughed out, they caught each other’s eyes, and set each other off again. Finally, the last dregs of chuckling faded away, and they managed to resettle themselves. 

“So did I pass?” asked Rassilon. While it was nice to wait here, he knew that the path of deadly needles was far below what the Forest could do. 

The Doctor paused, looking over his tablet of notes. The silence stretched out, until Rassilon started shifting nervously, preparing to bolt. “Yeah, you did. And since this is the real me, as it was before, you’ll even have one ally right off the bat. I’m afraid that you’ll have to make your own way out, as I still have business. Enjoy your trip!” And with those words, he faded away until it was like he was never there. Rassilon jumped to his feet, just in time for the clearing to spin and dump him on a cobblestone path. 

He walked in thought as he made his way to the edge of the Forest. He’d learned much, and gained a new ally. But if somebody got him, he got ousted, or it didn’t work, he needed a backup. He knew who he’d trust it to- that idiot had managed to survive far beyond most had ever imagined, and he had the most experience off-planet, as well as the best support system. If it all went down the drain, he’d need to ensure the Daleks- and possibly the Time Lords- got taken out of the equation. Much as he loathed them, the reorganized Time Agency was somewhat competent, and heavily regulated but not nonfunctional. That smacked of Narvin, honestly, but he was tired enough not to poke into it. Besides, even if he had to pull out Plan M, the odds were high that others would survive- either warned or simply due to happenstance. His job was to make sure he didn’t have to use her, but if he had to, then he’d put her in the best possible hands. 

As he neatly redressed in his heavy robes, he noticed the tablet lying neatly atop the satchel he’d left. A sticky note was stuck on top, with a familiar scrawl denoting that it was his ideas and way to connect to the NRN, whatever that was. Presumably, the others had gotten started planning without him, but whatever the situation, he’d work for the best of Gallifrey and the universe. After all, that was what he’d tried to do all along. Stepping out of the forest, the memories of his time inside locked. Not in the usual sense, that they were gone, but they locked in place. They were crystal-clear, although exact details of who he’d spoken to were fuzzy in that odd way that you could never quite describe how the Doctor looked, not without leaving something missing. 

Piloting the craft back to the Citadel, Rassilon took a few moments to peek at the timelines. While he wasn’t amazing, he had enough skill to see the direction of the future- and it looked bright. Oh, there was still much darkness and destruction ahead, but the brewing storm had lessened- and at its edges, curling around in a way he hadn’t seen in centuries, not since he saw it licking around the Looms as his friend fell, tendrils of gold twisted. Those tendrils and their guardian spirit, while duly terrifying, were quite kind, especially as Time Goddesses went. Rassilon pulled out his tablet and made a note. Once all this mess was done, he wanted to look into what, exactly, started this spirit. Who, exactly, the Bad Wolf had been, and who they would become. Bronze and arkytior twisted together at the back of his mouth- the taste of time. Changes were coming, but from the taste? Good ones were ahead. He tilted his head back, dozing. There was still much work to do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And once more, we have reached the end of another tale!
> 
> Leave a kudo or a comment and tell me what you liked!


End file.
